


Not Quite a Love Story

by theagonyofblank



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-28
Updated: 2009-07-28
Packaged: 2017-10-21 21:51:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theagonyofblank/pseuds/theagonyofblank
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They meet for the first time in kindergarten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Quite a Love Story

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt was, "it’s way too late to be this locked inside ourselves / the trouble is that you’re in love with someone else / it should be me. oh, it should be me” (interpol) by bluntsbitch. Written for International Day of Femslash '09.

They meet for the first time in kindergarten.

Elle is damaged goods already, the child of a neglectful father and an abusive mother. She’s the girl everyone avoids in the playground; the girl everyone knows is too powerful and the girl who is too _mean_ with her powers.

Claire is all sunshine and rainbows, the child of a doting father and an attentive mother. She’s the girl everyone loves; the girl everyone wants to play with on the playground, and the girl who can’t be hurt by anything.

It’s the fourth week of kindergarten, and Claire is curious about the girl no one will play with.

Elle, on the other hand, resents the girl that everyone loves.

“I don’t like you,” Elle tells a young Claire one day at the playground.

Claire blinks at her, and then offers her a piece of chocolate – part of her lunch that her mother had packed for her earlier that day. “Would you like some?”

If Elle knows the appropriate words for this action (she doesn’t), they would be _zero survival skills_. This girl – Claire – clearly doesn’t know an enemy from a friend.

Elle is rightly confused, and almost reaches to take the proffered chocolate when she remembers. _She does not like Claire Bennet._ She frowns, “No. I don’t like you and I don’t want any chocolate.”

But Claire notices the moment of hesitation, and she can only watch, feeling a little sad for the other girl, as Elle Bishop turns around without another word and struts off to the swings on her own.

\- - - - - - -

Somehow they end up at the same elementary school.

Elle is quiet and introverted, and the other children still keep out of her way. She may not say much, but the other children know there’s something not quite right about Elle Bishop. There’s the story about Billy Black, who once made fun of her – and everyone knows that Billy Black’s never quite been the same after that.

Claire is cheerful and extroverted, and the other children find themselves drawn to her. She has a way of making everyone feel important, and she can make a friend out of anyone. But everyone knows that even she can’t make a friend out of Elle Bishop.

And it’s not for a lack of trying on her part.

Ever since that fateful day in kindergarten, Claire has gone out of her way to be friendly towards Elle.

“Why don’t you want to talk to anyone?”

They’re in the fifth grade, and Claire is trailing after Elle as they walk towards the school bus.

“Why do you always want to talk to me?” Elle counters.

This is the first real response that Claire has ever managed to get out of Elle, and it makes her pause.

“Because everyone needs someone.”

“Not me.”

“Even you.”

Elle stops abruptly, and turns on her heel to glare at Claire. “I do _not_ need anybody.”

“Yes you do. You just don’t know it yet.”

A pause.

“Are you always this annoying?”

“Are you always this annoying?” Claire parrots.

Elle frowns, and her fingertips spark in warning.

Claire rolls her eyes, as though she expects this. And she kind of does. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“Everyone is.”

“Not me.” Claire says this fiercely.

This makes Elle pause and scrutinize Claire. Then she stops sparking. “Okay.”

“Okay what?”

Elle shrugs. “Okay nothing.”

Then she heads for the bus, leaving Claire behind.

If you ask either one of them, they will both tell you that this is the moment that marks the start of their friendship.

\- - - - - - -

Middle school is like a mini high school, with hormones and crushes and heartbreak, except that neither of them has ever been to high school, so they don’t know this.

“Billy Black was staring at you again today,” Elle says one day at recess, when they’re sitting on the bench eating their lunches. She’s pleased with the way her tone is neutral; she really hates Billy Black, and everybody knows this – especially Claire.

“He was not,” Claire responds, but she blushes – and Elle knows then that Claire is aware of Billy Black’s staring. But Claire continues, her tone so light Elle knows it’s a consolation, “He’s too scared of you, anyway.”

“He’d better be,” Elle mutters, taking a bite of her sandwich.

She knows she’s said the right thing when Claire laughs, that sharp laugh she knows by now to be the laugh Claire uses when she finds something particularly amusing. And Elle can only grin right back.

“I like you better anyway,” Claire declares dramatically, throwing her hand across her forehead.

“Good,” Elle says, surprised at the forcefulness of her voice. But she makes up for that with a softer, “Because you’re my best friend.”

“And you’re _my_ best friend, too,” Claire agrees, the corners of her eyes crinkling into a smile.

\- - - - - - -

Towards the end of high school, they drift apart.

Claire starts dating the star quarterback, Bryan Westwick, in eleventh grade, a guy who is sweet and caring but who everyone knows cheats on her with Amy Harrow, but somehow by the twelfth grade, they’re still together and happier than ever.

Elle doesn’t date anyone. She merely glares when Claire and Bryan walk by her in the hallways or in the lunchroom, turns her nose up and walks in the opposite direction. She doesn’t know why it hurts so much when Claire ignores her in turn, when Claire doesn’t even spare her a second glance.

But then, that’s how it’s been since Bryan came into the picture a year ago.

She remembers, bitterly, how she hadn’t wanted a friend. Hadn’t needed a friend.

This is why.

Claire confronts her a week before graduation.

“What happened to us, Elle?”

Elle shrugs. “You tell me.”

“This isn’t about Bryan, is it? I’ve told you, we can work this out—”

And Elle wants to say, _You’re so much better than he is, Claire._ She wants to say, _You were supposed to be my best friend._ She wants to say, _I love you_. But what she says instead is, “No, we can’t.”

“What?”

“It’s over, Claire. It’s been nice being friends, or whatever.”

She walks away before Claire can say anything.

\- - - - - - -

College is a whole different world.

Every day, Elle finds herself meeting someone new. She hates this, hates this unfamiliarity and how she doesn’t seem to fit in anywhere. Not then, and not now. She goes to classes because she’s expected to, but really all she wants to do is work with that famed Company – the very one that stole her father from her, made him neglectful and uncaring. But she has no one to care for, no one to trust, so really, what does it matter anyway?

Claire, on the other hand, thrives. It’s no surprise; she’s always been this way. Fitting in easily, with that charm and smile of hers. She loves classes and loves the people even more. Every day is a new experience, and a welcome one at that. She talks to Bryan over the phone every day; they may be separated by hundreds of miles, but she feels closer to him than ever. She can’t say the same for Elle, though.

The two girls – young women, now – don’t see; don’t speak of, much less to each other during this period of time.

\- - - - - - -

It’s exactly one year after they graduate from college.

Claire wakes up to the ringing of her phone in the dead of the night.

“Hello?” she answers, her voice tinged with sleep.

It’s silent on the other end.

She is about to put the phone down when she hears it: Just the faintest sniff of a noise that reminds her of crying, and in that instant she knows who it is. Knows, even though they haven’t spoken in _years_.

“Elle?” she whispers.

“Claire,” the voice on the other end sounds broken, and Claire feels her heart ripping in two. “Claire, I’m so sorry—”

“Elle, what are you talking about?” Claire isn’t annoyed – just concerned.

“I’m sorry. For everything. I… You’re…” she trails off. “You’re my best friend.”

“And you’re my best friend, too,” she hears herself saying back.

They don’t say anything else, and Claire falls asleep like that, the phone to one ear.

By the time she wakes the next day, Elle has hung up.

\- - - - - - -

Another year passes.

Claire is getting married in a few months, and when it comes to the invitations, she sends one out to an Elle Bishop. She doesn’t know what makes her do it, if the address is even the same anymore, but she hopes the letter gets to its intended addressee.

It does.

\- - - - - - -

Claire’s wedding day comes quickly after that.

All throughout her wedding she’s distracted, looking over heads just to see if she can spot the tiniest wisp of blonde, those cold blue eyes that warm whenever they turn to her.

She can’t.

But after the first dance, after Bryan moves off to talk to his family and just as Claire heads for the punch, she’s pulled aside.

She expects this yet doesn’t at the same time.

When her eyes fall upon Elle, she doesn’t know _what_ to think. She wants to cry out loud, she wants to slap her, she wants to throw her arms around her and never let go. She wants to say, _I’ve missed you._ But she doesn’t. She stands there awkwardly for a moment, her wrist burning from where Elle is still holding her, but she doesn’t make a move to pull away.

“You’re here,” she finally manages.

“You sent me an invitation,” Elle replies quietly, her tone a gentle reminder.

“Yes,” Claire nods. “I did. I didn’t think you’d come.”

“Here I am,” Elle says, holding her hands out and letting go of Claire.

Silence. An awkward silence, the sort where the world keeps on turning, but then there’s them, and they’re stuck in some sort of rut. Like everyone’s moving on without them.

“Why did you come, Elle?”

“Why did you invite me, Claire?”

Another pause.

“I don’t know,” Claire murmurs.

“Well, I don’t either, then,” Elle responds, a little petulantly.

Claire sighs. “How long, Elle?”

“What?”

“How long are we going to keep doing this?”

“Doing what, exactly?”

“This is exactly what I mean,” Claire sighs again. “You’re either my friend or you’re not, and you’ve made it abundantly clear, years ago, that you wanted nothing to do with me. But then you call me up—”

“Don’t act like this is all my fault. You didn’t have to invite me to your wedding.”

“You certainly didn’t have to show up.”

“ _Please,_ Claire,” Elle’s tone is venomous, and Claire can see her start to spark at the very tips of her fingers. “You wouldn’t have sent me an invitation if you didn’t want me here. You _knew_ – you _knew_ if you sent it, I would come. We both know that.”

 _“Maybe…”_

 _“Maybe _what_?”_

“Maybe I just wanted you to say something, for once! Maybe I wanted you to tell me how you feel, instead of running away, like you have all your life!”

Elle bites her lip, turns her head so that Claire can’t see her face.

“It’s okay, Elle, to let people in.”

\- - - - - - -

Two hours later, they find themselves at the hotel bar.

“Sometimes…” Elle begins thoughtfully, but then stops abruptly, swirling her drink.

Claire waits, but when it’s apparent Elle isn’t going to continue, she prompts, “Sometimes what?”

Elle hesitates.

Claire gives her a look.

“Sometimes,” Elle tries again, “Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like…” Off of Claire’s questioning look, Elle adds, “…if it had been _me_ instead of him.” She takes another gulp of her drink, looking away from Claire.

“Oh, _Elle,_ ” Claire says, and the way she says it sounds so sad, Elle feels compelled to look at her. “Elle, why didn’t you ever say?”

“What? Say what?”

Claire shakes her head, and she looks – well, Elle is struck by how tired she looks.

“Listen, it’s nothing, really – just a stupid thought, Claire,” Elle hastens to say, trying to make her friend feel better.

“Elle.”

And before Elle really knows what’s going on, she feels Claire’s hands slip around to cup her face, and she can feel Claire’s thumb stroking the side of her cheek, and then Claire is leaning in and Elle is leaning in too, and then their lips brush and tongues meet and in that instant, Elle can’t help but think that this is what they could have been. And this is what she’s lost.

When they pull away moments later, Elle keeps her eyes closed, trying to commit it all to memory.

She opens her eyes soon after, lips curving up into a sad smile. “You’re my best friend, Claire. You know?”

Claire nods, just as sadly. “And you’re _my_ best friend, Elle.”

Elle slips off the barstool, turns away from Claire and what could have been but never was.

And just like that, before it even really begins, it’s over.


End file.
